


A Jedi Always Pays Their Debts

by lookatthatolivetree



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M, I Don't Even Know, M/M, What Was I Thinking?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 09:59:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5781580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookatthatolivetree/pseuds/lookatthatolivetree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At a time where Westeros is gripped by the plagued First Order, one must fight for what is rightfully theirs. But there is a new enemy about...for Winter is coming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Jedi Always Pays Their Debts

All is eerily silent on the hilltop, the mist blanketing the valley, suffocating it of warmth and life. The morning dew clings to the shaggy blades of grass, the sun not yet fully risen to cast away its wet footprint.  
He stumbles, the slickness of the ground battling him for footing as the low rumble of horse hooves beat through the ground itself. He runs, fully knowing his fate is already decided, but he runs nevertheless, his Ranger’s black garb pasting itself to his gangly frame as he heaves and pants his way across the ground. They catch up with him of course. He can only look up at the spearheads mere inches from the soft skin of his throat, the armoured men upon their steeds frowning at the state of this being before them.  
Oh, he knew exactly who these men were.

Winterfell  
Bran focused, aiming his arrow at the heart of the target before him, willing with all his might that it would finally hit it this time. He shoots. It misses. Just like last time. And the other times before it. He can feel the disappointment leak into him like a virus, spreading through him until a frown tugs at the corner of his mouth and he no longer has the confidence to look the target in the eye.  
Ben, his brother, though not by complete blood, walked towards him, circled once, before finally resting his hands on Bran’s shoulder, crouching to his level to whisper in his ear.  
“Go on. Father’s watching” he said with a reasonable touch of reassurance.  
Of course Father was watching.  
“And your Mother”.  
And, as it would seem to add further to his luck, so was his Mother. The great Han and Leia Solo of Winterfell. And they were watching their son fail.

Inside the Northern castle, Sansa Solo was sat, as per usual, methodically stitching and sewing to her heart’s content, the embroidery all consuming. It was known that Septa Mordane had a weak spot for the likes of Sansa and thus was proven to the entire stitching congregation as she yet again praised her for her ‘exquisite’ needlework.  
“Fine work, as always. Well done”  
Sansa, of course, would never turn down an opportunity to be praised aloud and so, after a simple ‘Thank you’, continued to hide the light blush of pride from her pale cheeks.  
“I love the detail that you’ve managed to get in these corners… Quite beautiful…the stitching…”, Septa Mordane continued.  
Her murmurs of nauseating praise to Sansa faded into the distance as her sister, Arya Solo, glared a hole into the back of her skull. Her clumsy fingers made handling needles difficult and in her mind, unnecessary, her hands itching to grasp a bow like her male counterparts outside.

Outside, before the shooting targets once more, Bran pulls back his arrow, the physical strain etched onto his young face. It flies, over the target and beyond the wall behind. His brothers burst into fits of barely restrained laughter as Bran looks at the floor once more but is still reluctant to drop the bow. His father, from the balcony above, simply leans forward, the twinkle of amusement in his eyes the only result from Bran’s mistake.  
“And which one of you was a marksman at ten, huh? Before you can wield a lightsaber, you must learn how to shoot. Keep practicing, Bran. Go on” Han remarked, leaning back again.  
Bran, once more, turned towards the target.  
“Don’t think too much, Bran” Ben adds, leaning down to make eye contact to show the sincerity of his words.  
“Relax your bow arm” Poe, his older brother, quips as they both continue to analyse his shooting form.  
Bran takes a long pull of air and lifts the arrow, pulling it back. Before one could even blink, an arrow hit the centre bulls-eye. Stunned into silence, Bran, his arrow yet unfired, turns around behind his to reveal the small, slight form of his sister Arya, bow in hand. With the pride of the shot and the confidence of her skill, Arya takes a mock curtesy to her stunned audience before running off along the courtyard, her laughter still audible. Bran, in a slight fit of sibling anger, throws the bow down and takes after her, the brothers Poe and Ben laughing at the sight.  
On the balcony, amused smiles play on both Han and Leia’s lips at the sight. They are simultaneously brought out of their reverie by the solid thuds of Rodrick Cassel followed only slightly timidly behind by Anakin Greyjoy. They stop a few metres away before gravely addressing them.  
“Lord Solo. My lady” accompanied with tight nods to both. A slight hesitation preceded his explanation for the intrusion.  
“A guardsmen just rode in from the hills. They’ve captured a Jedi deserter from the Night’s Watch”.

**Author's Note:**

> Right, in all honesty, I have no idea where this is going or how I even got here. But feel free to comment what you think and if you have any ideas.
> 
> Thanks!


End file.
